Shades of Gray
by Airlia
Summary: The lines that define Light and Dark often blurr, and lost in the middle is Draco Malfoy. In the life some claimed to see for him in its various forms: Death Eater, Ministry Spy, Harry's lover, there are some burdens he must bear alone. . .
1. One

**Prologue**

  
  
The choice came before I was ready, without warning, without mercy. Light and Dark and Good and Evil and Power and Weakness all blurring together and they forced me down this road.   
  
To be or not to be will not be my question to answer when the time comes; my Fate is removed from my power. There will be no choice, in the end, no second option or hope of redemption. My death will likely be over exaggerated, the truth hidden. I am possessed in equal parts by the polar opposites of the universe: Light and Dark. They who have started me down this road did not expect me to stray from such; I dart from path to path and trample through the brush blindly. One trail is Light, is fighting for Dumbledore and all that he embodies, the other road leading to the offering of my Soul to Voldemort. So many do not understand the difficultly of such a choice, so many would find the option of evil synonymous with pain and hardship. _But I am bound to the Dark Lord, tied deeper than even Harry._   
  
I offered my Soul; I offered my Life and my Death, my Love and Pain and Pride and Hate, sold it for that package of both Salvation and Damnation. I became a spy, sold my life to the Ministry, turned around, and sold myself again to Voldemort. So both sides were satisfied, everyone thought that Draco Malfoy was theirs. _I am not the Dark Lord's, I am not Dumbledore's, nor do I belong to myself._   
  
And so I walk two roads and stumble between them in the half-light of late evening. I consider this fading twilight dark while knowing this is only the beginning. There will be no moon, no stars, no sun or hope or prayers. I will lead my own way, I will trace the footsteps of Snape, I will follow in the ways of Darkness and Light.   
  
There are those who knew this would happen: who predicted this double life for me, who claimed to see past the ever-present darkness within me and find the light I would serve the Ministry's side of the battle with. Did they know, when they chose the life of the two-faced for me, what it was, what they were doing? That they were reshaping my entire being, by twining Good and Evil together within me? I was 15 when they forced this upon me, now I am 18; I am torn and pained and grieved, hated and neglected. _I was loved._ I am a victim of a world without a conscience, of a battle that cares little for its warriors, of a universe that cares nothing for me. There is no guiding light on the horizon; the tunnel ends not in pure light but in deeper darkness. I have been robbed of my soul and left with the shards. _I gave what was left to Harry, now the hollow pounding in my chest aches with each breath._   
  
The Ministry cares not. Voldemort cares less. He would notice if I died, he does not notice that I am dying. And it is more Dumbledore's fault than the Dark Lord's own, Dumbledore who sold me so easily to two sides, who watches me die with a twisted amusement, who bargained me away that Harry might be saved. There is an old cliché about dying without the world noticing: I am fading into eternal oblivion and the world simply doesn't give a shit. And somehow my lover remains blind to my emptiness as well. I am the best spy available. Closer than anyone to Voldemort, so wonderfully distanced from emotion, able to do whatever is asked of me by either side, more powerful than Potter and able to nearly defeat the Dark Lord himself in a duel. But I do not fight with the Death Eaters at the order of Voldemort. I am far too important to him to risk being lost in a skirmish.   
  
What the Ministry does not, cannot, know, is what I am to Voldemort. What he has robbed me of on the most basic levels available. Why I can convince him to do nearly anything, what power I hold over him. If Fudge knew, if Dumbledore knew, _-if Harry knew-_ if they suspected at all, I would be a traitor _-adulterer-_, ruined beyond redemption and killed _-abandoned-_ without another word. And I am beyond saving now; no one can forgive me for this worst of all sins.   
  
I am the consort of Lord Voldemort, Satan Incarnate.   
  
And so I suffer in this worst of ways, for with every night he trusts me more and more, allows me more and more free reign. I suffer because I know first about attacks, I know the details of the assassination plots before the other spies, I can convince him to do otherwise on occasion. I suffer for the Muggles, the Mudbloods, the supporters of Light.   
  
  
_And for Harry, mostly for Harry._   
  
  
~~~~~~************************~~~~~   
  
  


**Part I**   
  
Chapter 1

  
  
  
Gray is generally not a color generally associated with summer, but the past few months had been unfailingly and monotonously gray. Not silver and shimmering, but the color of a dull knife, an indifferent sort of shine that hung gloomily in the heavens. The rain dripped slowly past the window as the boy in the library ran from various shelves to the large desk and back with armloads of books, energy surely enhanced by adrenaline (or perhaps just caffeine). Obviously driven by some unknown purpose, he turned the pages of the thick volume now sitting on the desk quickly but not hastily. Sky- colored eyes, which is to say, in this case, a sharp gray, darted across the pages in such a manner that an observer would assume that the words blurred meaninglessly. But Draco Malfoy saw every word on every page, biting his lip hard in frustration when the book he happened to be searching proved to be as useless as every other tome he had searched in the last three days.   
  
The appearance of a slightly scandalized looking house-elf in the doorway failed to deter him from his quest. "What?" he hissed angrily, eyes still fixed on the book. "Blinkin is sorry, sir, but people are asking for sir at the door," the small creature squeaked. "Ministry people, sir," the elf added, bowing and shrinking away. Draco swore fluently in a number of languages as he closed the book he was poring over with a satisfying thunk and stormed past the elf, which followed him hurriedly. At last reaching the thick mahogany doors, Draco seized hold of the huge dragon shaped silver rings and threw them apart, revealing a cluster of navy-blue robed wizards, faces mostly covered by dark hoods. But one, standing mere inches from Draco, wore no hood, and a cloak not blue but a deep scarlet. He met Draco's cold stare unflinchingly, a false smile playing across his lips.   
  
"Mister Malfoy," he said. "So good to see you again."   
  
"Oh, quite, Headmaster," Draco said sarcastically, sneering openly at Albus Dumbledore. "I'm afraid you've . . ." he smirked and surveyed the ten or so Ministry officials gathered on his doorstep, "caught me at a rather inconvenient time. I regret to inform you that my father--"   
  
"We're not here to speak with your father, Malfoy," came another voice from behind Dumbledore. Draco shifted his gaze to see none other than Arthur Weasley remove the hood and glare icily at him. "Do you mind if we have a look around?"   
  
"Absolutely," Draco spat. "What is the meaning of this?" he hissed at Dumbledore, who smiled vaguely.   
  
"Your parents were arrested while on holiday in France. Apparently they were trying to purchase a banned potion off of the black market, unfortunately for them," Weasley sniggered loudly, "the 'seller' was an undercover French official. The Ministry has secured the rights to search this house for any other . . . banned substances."   
  
"This is absurd," Draco snapped. "Show me the papers." A Ministry witch that Draco did not recognize held out a stack of parchments, signed by Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. He flipped through them quickly and shoved them back into Dumbledore's hands. "Fine," he said, suddenly weary. "I'll be in the library." He spun on his heel and turned to leave when someone grabbed his forearm and pulled him back forcefully.   
  
"I believe you will be accompanying us, Malfoy," Arthur Weasley hissed, digging his nails into Draco's arm.   
  
"My apologizes, Mister Weasley, but I am in the middle of something." And with that, Draco wrenched his arm free of Weasley's grasp and swept down the hall, cloak billowing out behind him in waves of darkness, leaving Weasley standing dumbstruck in the rain.   
  
There must have been more Ministry wizards than Draco had originally assumed, he counted seven total in the hallways on his way to the study, not to mention that there was one in nearly every room he passed. Dumbledore himself seemed to be omnipresent, a fact which Draco found to be most infuriating. He generally avoided the Headmaster at school, having him arrive with Weasley in tow had been anything but a pleasant surprise. To his great relief, the library was still devoid of officials, and Draco hurried to the shelves to retrieve yet another stack of books. Dropping them unceremoniously on the desk, he flipped the top one open and stood above it, one hand on each side of the book, hair falling across his temples as he leaned over to bring the words into sharper focus. He was quickly engrossed his work, mind blocking out nearly all sound in order to fully concentrate. A loud cough soon broke him from his peaceful train of thought, and the overwhelming urge to beat the life out of whatever house-elf or official was in the doorway gripped him ferociously.   
  
"Get out," he hissed venomously, digging his nails into the soft wood of the desk. "Now."   
  
"Not even a hello? My, my, Malfoy, where are your manners?" Leaning against the doorframe stood none other than Harry Potter, clad in the robes of a Ministry wizard, arms crossed and looking impossibly smug. Draco turned his head sharply and glared furiously at the smirking boy in the doorway.   
  
"My manners, Potter, do not extend to Muggle-lovers such as yourself. OUT!" he roared, and Harry flinched slightly, not expecting the sudden outburst.   
  
"But _Draco,_" he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "don't you want to help your mummy and daddy?" he continued, in a pathetic imitation of a little child. "And Dumbledore said if you help-"   
  
"I'm not helping him. Or you, or the Ministry, or anyone."   
  
"Unless you help us, we won't help you."   
  
"Please," Draco said looking disgusted. "What the hell makes you think I need help? Although from what I hear, you certainly could use some mental help."   
  
"Borrowing insults from some pathetic reporter? You continue to sink to new lows." But Draco had already immersed himself in the book in front of him, and either didn't hear or chose not to care. Suddenly gripped by what he considered to be the best idea he'd had in a long time, Harry decided to test just how interesting that book was. "Goyle is madly in love with Crabbe." Draco made some indistinct noise and turned the page. "Crabbe is madly in love with you."   
  
"I suspected as much," Draco replied nonchalantly, turning another page. The silence stretched between them until Harry's inquisitiveness got the better of him.   
  
"What _is_ that?" Harry asked, looking curiously at the book.   
  
"None of your goddamned business, Potter," Draco snapped. Lazily uncrossing his arms and taking his weight off of the doorway, Harry walked slowly to the desk where Draco stood. He moved to look over Draco's shoulder, only to find his view obscured by loosely falling silver hair. Moving his hand down to brush the troublesome strands away, he failed to notice that Draco's arm was moving also. Digging his rather long nails into Potter's hand, Draco let go when Harry let out a satisfying howl of pain.   
  
"What was that for?" Harry whined, nursing the bleeding half-moons on the back of his hand.   
  
"Don't. Touch. Me."   
  
"Bloody bastard," he mumbled, and walked around to the other side of the desk, grabbing the front cover of the book and flipping it shut on Draco's hands. Placing both of his hands on top of the book, he pressed down with all of his weight, reading the title upside down. "A Complete Guide to Protection Spells," he read aloud.   
  
"Thank you for proving you can read, Potter. Or did you let Granger borrow your invisibility cloak so she could whisper it in your ear?" Harry's eyebrows receded into his hairline.   
  
"You know about that?" he whispered, astonished.   
  
Draco sneered in an exceedingly evil way. "I suspected as much, but many thanks for confirming my suspicions." Harry resisted the urge to slap himself, and the subsequent one to slap Draco. "Now, if you don't mind, would you please GET OFF?"   
  
"One more thing."   
  
"Fine," Draco sighed with the air of one humouring a small child.   
  
"Do you believe that there is such a thing as good and evil?"   
  
"Not quite," he said flatly. "And even so, both of them really have little use in the end. It all comes down to strength, in whatever battle the world happens to be fighting."   
  
"You're right," he said, staring straight ahead yet seeing nothing. Wide-eyed and pale, he stepped backwards and slowly slid down the floor-length window behind him as Draco watched with mild interest. He frankly cared little about Harry Potter's well being, but should something happen while he was alone with a certain Boy Who Lived, Dumbledore, not to mention Weasley, would instantly suspect the worst and Draco had no desire to explain himself. Exhaling deeply, he stepped around the desk and sat next to Harry at the windows.   
  
More nervous than sincere, eyes flicking to the doorway as if Dumbledore might unconsiously sence Harry's anguish and appear, he patted Harry's shoulder awkwardly. Continuing lost its point as Draco realized that Harry was definitely not paying any attention whatsoever. Letting his hand fall to the floor carelessly, he closed his eyes and listened to the silver drops beating small rhythms on the thin glass.   
  
  


**_End Chapter 1_**

  
  
A/N: Wondering why Harry's at the Manor with the Ministry? Why Weasley and Dumbledore are there? What the hell is going on in general? Have no fear, everything will be explained in chapters two and three. **WARNING!!WARNING!!Slash approaching!!** Probably very soon, within the next few chapters, and this is a Draco/Harry fic. SO all those opposed, leave now or forever hold your peace. Please review, flames welcome. Even anti-slash flames, which will cause the writer to be subjected to a lecture on the all around greatness of slash. Chapter 2 coming soon to a computer near you. And just a little bit of info: this whole thing at the Manor takes place right after GoF, in the summer before OotP (coming in June! Yay!). 


	2. Two

When at last Harry spoke again, his voice was so diminished that Draco had to lean significantly closer to him to hear properly.   
  
"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here." Draco made some noncommittal sound that Harry took as confirmation. Plunging recklessly on, he continued hurriedly, slurring his words slightly.   
  
"It's just that, I didn't want to go back to the Muggles this summer, and I couldn't just leave, what with Voldemort running about and all, so I went to stay with the Weasleys. And then the Ministry wanted more raids, and so Arthur said he would help out a bit. I guess it looks like I work for them, but I don't, I just follow Dumbledore and Arthur about and do meaningless tasks. But I don't know how meaningless this one was, I was supposed to make sure you didn't go running off, or try and stop them when they look under the drawing room floor-" he stopped upon noticing Draco's sigh of what might have been relief. Furrowing his brow and trying to remember that conversation overheard three years before: "But isn't that where-" and this time cut himself off when he remembered that Harry Potter wasn't there, that was while he was under the effects of the Polyjuice Potion.   
  
"I don't know how in the world you know what I think you know about what used to be under there, Potter, but let me be the first to assure you that the compartment under the drawing room floor is quite empty."   
  
"So you delivered the goods to Voldemort yourself, eh, Malfoy?" Draco amazed himself by not simply hexing Harry, and settled instead for rising and returning to the desk rather quickly. Harry, who until then had been staring at a spot on the ground, watched Draco's retreating back with interest. "I'll take that as a yes. Kill any Muggles recently? I'm sure Dumbledore would love to know," he called, trying to provoke Draco for the sole reason of getting him in trouble with the headmaster. As he realized what he was doing, he temporarily was amazed by how Malfoy-like his actions were. Feeling vaguely guilty, he watched Draco's every move as he stacked the books on the desk and slid them to one side. His face was the definition of emotionless; he did not move with the loud and sweeping motions of the thoroughly angered.   
  
Draco, for once, was finding it surprisingly easy to control his rush of hatred towards Harry; he suspected that the presence of the Ministry in the house was the main cause of that. Although he felt the eyes of the other boy on him, he was in no mood for a staring contest, and decided instead to clear the desk before pulling open a drawer and retrieving parchment and a quill. He Summoned a chair and sank down into it while picking up the sharpened eagle feather and dipping it into a small ink well onto the table.   
  
"You're left handed." A statement, not a question, ringing through the large room.   
  
"And?" Not looking up, Draco began writing.   
  
"Just . . . most people aren't."   
  
"So?" More defiantly this time, daring Harry to challenge him, raising his eyes at last to meet the other boy's, and then Harry saw it. So brief one not looking for it might not have seen it, so sudden and yet expected: the flash of sheer hatred. Harry dropped his eyes quickly and became fascinated with the hem of his robes. Draco smirked, satisfied at last, and continued his letter to the Leaky Cauldron, reserving a room for the following week, the last week before term started. Fifth year was fast approaching, and Draco was taking full advantage of the fact that he had already finished every homework assignment and devoting the long days to finding and learning a particularly difficult charm known as the Demounis Charm, that involved storing a Blocking Spell in an object in such a way that the bearer of the object would be protected during a duel from most spells. Unfortunately, the books in the Malfoy library were devoted almost entirely to the Dark Arts, and it was nowhere to be found. This was the fourth week of his search, and it was both grating on his nerves and getting quite tiresome.   
  
At last he finished the letter and sealed it, whistling for an owl as he did so. An enormous tawny owl appeared at the window, nearly instantly. Harry rose and moved to one side while Draco stepped over and fiddled with the latch.   
  
"How'd you do that?" he asked curiously as the bird swooped in and landed gently on Draco's arm. "Train it to come when you call, I mean," he added when Draco didn't answer.   
  
"I didn't," he replied shortly and with such finality that Harry knew the subject was closed.   
  
The owl was ridiculously patient; not moving at all while Draco tied the small roll of parchment to its leg. It didn't click its beak or nibble his fingers affectionately when it left, simply spread its wings and glided away calmly. In some odd way, the owl itself reminded Harry strongly of Draco: calm and well behaved but painfully distant.   
  
"Malfoy?" Draco turned quickly, and Harry's eyebrows did a quick vanishing act into his hairline.   
  
"Professor?" Draco asked, blinking a few times to make sure that his eyes weren't deciding to go bad. He sighed tiredly and ran a hand through his hair once he was quite sure that the head Slytherin House was most assuredly standing in the doorway. The sheer oddness of the day had begun to exhaust him thoroughly. The fact that Snape was there didn't bother Draco much; he was a regular visitor to the manor. But his appearance at the same time as the Ministry's, and the fact that he was wearing the red hemmed robes of an Auror disturbed him through and through. After all, as far as Draco knew, Snape was just another Death Eater.   
  
"Dumbledore needs to speak with you both," the potions-master said darkly. "Come along."   
  
They trotted after him obediently as he led the way through the dimly lit corridors to the large drawing room, where Dumbledore reclined lazily in a seat near the huge windows. Harry's jaw dropped open as he surveyed the room. It was easily a third of the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The vaulted ceiling was also similar to the one at Hogwarts, bewitched to look like the sky, however, here it echoed the night sky, the stars shining with a slightly green tone. One wall was covered in huge floor to ceiling windows every two feet or so, thick black drapes held to one side by green ribbons. The opposite wall had a large fireplace made of black granite, and the other walls, adorned with paintings of pale blondes wearing robes with the Malfoy crest, was painted a deep emerald sort of colour. Scattered throughout the room were a number of plush chairs upholstered with a silver fabric, and it was from one of those that Dumbledore rose and turned to face the three people entering the room.   
  
"I suppose," he said to Draco, "I have some explaining to do."   
  
"Indeed," he snapped back. The headmaster gave him a withering look, which Draco met with a steady gaze.   
  
"Sit," Dumbledore said, motioning to a chair behind Draco and returning to his former seat across from him. "Now," he said, never breaking eye contact with the boy sitting in the chair opposite him, "The Ministry, so far, has found nothing of any consequence in this house. That doesn't, however, mean that there is nothing here. It has been my long held suspicion that this house is home to some of the most notorious Dark materials in all of Europe. The problem, Mister Malfoy, is that there are a ridiculous number of rooms and god only knows how many passages and hidden chambers there are here. As such, we need someone who has lived here for . . . quite some time to assist us. Or provide a blueprint of the house.   
  
"I know for a fact that you would loathe to help incriminate yourself or your family. Or help the Ministry at all, for that matter. But there are ways this can be done without your assistance, and I believe you would find them most unpleasant." Dumbledore had that way of making an obvious threat sound like a comment on the weather, but Draco bristled all the same.   
  
"Empty threat, Headmaster," he hissed.   
  
"Not a threat, Mister Malfoy. Just the truth. There are other reasons, as well, why the Ministry has chosen this time to thoroughly and persistently search here.   
  
"As you doubtlessly know, Voldemort has returned, and it is essential that we deprive him of resources as quickly as possible."   
  
"We?" Draco asked, a smirk playing across his face.   
  
"Which brings me to my next point. Professor?" he said, turning to Snape, who nodded. Dumbledore stood and walked out; pulling a somewhat confused Harry behind him. Snape slid easily into Dumbledore's recently vacated seat, smiling faintly at a brooding Draco.   
  
"WE," he said firmly. "You must think, at the moment, that the return of the Dark Lord does not negatively affect you. And that assumption is not without reason. Your father must have told you already what . . . plans Voldemort had for you before his original downfall." Draco nodded quickly. "So his rebirth, so to speak, might appear to hold rewards for you, and your family.   
  
"This, however, very well may not be the case. Dumbledore is attempting to counter every foreseeable move that Voldemort may make. And in some cases, he has been successful. The giants have already been persuaded; the werewolves and several other groups of magical beings have agreed to assist. The Aurors are recruiting feverishly; a movement has begun to push Fudge out of office. But that is not the matter at hand.   
  
"The point is that Voldemort WILL fall again. It is only a matter of time before some way is found to defeat him. Last time all it took was a little boy. And this time something as inconsequential in appearance could do the same. But the strongest force the Light side will have in the coming battle is the army of spies Dumbledore is seeking to create.   
  
"I myself became one, before the first defeat of Voldemort. Dumbledore has asked me to persuade you to do likewise." Draco looked somewhat shocked in mild, bored sort of way.   
  
"You do realize that you are wasting your time," he said dryly. "I am not a traitor." Draco sneered at the professor in such a way that plainly said that he had lost all respect for the man that he ever might have had.   
  
"Nor am I, Malfoy," he spat. "I would ask you to join with us because it is right, because the murder of someone based on the circumstances of their birth is wrong. Which it is, but I assume that you have been raised with your father's values, which have a complete and utter disregard for right and wrong or good and evil. So I will instead explain it a slightly different way.   
  
"When he falls, the Ministry will throw you into Azkaban without another word. If you are so lucky. Last time the greatest mistake made was letting the Death Eaters – such as your father – walk free. This time they will most likely simply sentence you all to the Dementor's Kiss. But if you agree to join the Ministry, and wear the Dark Mark for us, when this is over you will have an Order of Merlin and your freedom.   
  
"If you hesitate because you think Voldemort will kill you if he finds out, than consider this. Voldemort slaughters his followers with the same amount of care as he kills Muggles. None whatsoever. And if you displease him, you'll be dead before you can apologize. If you are to die by the hand of Voldemort, why not do it honorably?"   
  
"I fail to see the honor in dying as a traitor."   
  
"Traitor to what, though? Traitor to your father? Traitor to Voldemort? The term traitor is generally reserved for those who betray the cause of those fighting for justice.   
  
"And the honor, Mister Malfoy, comes from saving countless people even as you die."   
  
"Saving?"   
  
"Indeed. We provide the Ministry and Dumbledore with what they need to counter the Dark Lord's attacks. And as a result, lives are saved." Draco thought that through for a moment, and then with a start remembered something that great prat Dumbledore had said.   
  
"What's all this about searching the Manor and making my life miserable?"   
  
"That is Dumbledore's idea of a threat. He already has the blueprints to this house, and can either search and confiscate quietly or drive you to your wit's end while doing so. If you won't join us he will do the latter."   
  
"He is not very good at this convincing business, is he?" Draco asked with the barest trace of smile.   
  
"No, actually, he's quite good at it when dealing with most people. But you seem to baffle him quite a bit. He never really knew how to deal with your father, either," Snape remarked, looking quite thoughtful and distant.   
  
"I still fail to see the reason I should be a part of this insanity."   
  
"Because there really is no choice. Dumbledore will be watching you," he hissed, leaning close to Draco, "and when you become a Death Eater he will know. And you can be sure that you will rot in Azkaban. I am offering you a way out, protection when the war is over no matter who wins. I did it because it is right. I should hope you would do the same. Think hard, Malfoy, there are no second chances in this game." Snape rose quickly and vanished with the small pop accompanying Disapparating.   
  
Draco sank back into his chair and stared at the star-lit ceiling, lost in thought.   
  
  
  
A\N: Hello loyal readers! I have made a pact with my collegue Idria to stay off of all fanfiction for one full week, starting tonight. That only means reading though, and I will be working extra hard on chapter 3 of this insanity. Peace, love and reviews!   
- Pik 


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